A Soul to Sell
by paperbkryter
Summary: Missing scenes from the end of In My Time of Dying. What really happened to John Winchester? Also contains spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose 2


John Winchester loitered down the hall from the room where his eldest was going through yet another round of tests. He'd missed it the first time, when Dean was flown in from the site of the accident and rushed into trauma, the doctors unsure of his prognosis and unwilling to admit anything. John had also been unconscious when Sam grew belligerent regarding their reluctance to share information. An intern had gotten smart. Sam punched the guy in the mouth before a swarm of doctors and nurses could hold him down and give him a sedative.

He hadn't heard any of this from Sam. John hadn't survived as long as he had out in the field without being cagey; always paying attention to whispers, gossip, innuendo and rumor. During the twilight period between the light and the dark he'd overheard two nurses talking. Sam, they said, was understandably upset. His brother was not expected to live.

John actually hadn't expected Dean to live from the cabin to the car, not with the wounds he was sporting and the blood he had lost. He had been as pale as parchment, his lips slightly blue, and his eyes barely focused as Sam quite literally carried him to the car. If that alone hadn't told them something was horribly wrong, something else most certainly did.

The silence.

Dean hadn't spoken a word since his hoarse voice overrode that of his father...

"_Please, son! Shoot me!"_

"_Don't you do it! Sam, don't you do it!"_

Guilt slammed John in the chest. It hurt. He rubbed idly at the place just over his heart. It was telling, that scene, an illustration of just one of John's many failures. What kind of father had he been? He'd tried his best. He'd had to make protecting the boys' lives a priority over everything else. He had to make them independent, capable of taking care of themselves if something should ever happen to him. He hadn't coddled them, and they'd grown up into strong, intelligent young men he could be proud of, right? What was wrong with that?

And yet...

Sam had deferred to Dean. He'd obeyed Dean. Back when Sam still lived at home, when his disenchantment with John was at its peak and all they did was fight – it had always been Dean who mended the fences. He could always get Sam to back down, get him to listen to reason. When exactly had John's influence begun to wane? He couldn't remember. Had Sam _ever_ had any respect for him? After all, he'd spent more time with Dean than with John. It had been Dean who played parent when John was out Hunting, and even when John was home, too damn tired to deal with either kid. Maybe he should ask himself if he deserved their respect at all.

If Sam knew the truth he certainly wouldn't respect John in the slightest. What little love they shared between them would wither and die. John wasn't even certain Sam wouldn't put a bullet in his heart just out of principle, even if he hadn't been able to do it before.

"_I have a plan..."_

"_That's exactly my point! Dean is dying, and you have a plan!" _

"More of a gamble," John murmured.

He moved back into the shadows of a doorway as Sam came around the corner at the opposite end of the hall. John was struck by the expression on his son's bruised and battered face. Hope battled logic. Just because Dean had regained consciousness, just because he had managed to choke out Sam's name after they removed the ventilator, didn't mean he would be okay in the end. His injuries were severe, and he'd escaped death once before. Lightning didn't strike twice in the same spot.

In reality lightning did strike twice in the same spot, often hitting the same place hundreds of times over the course of a year. Mother Nature was unpredictably predictable. In this case, however, John had given things a little shove in the right direction. He knew Dean would come out of the room down the hall miraculously recovered. His wounds would be healed, his body undamaged save perhaps for a few scrapes and bruises such as Sam sported.

Sam didn't know this, nor many other things John kept to himself, and John wandered away leaving Sam to pace and fret alone outside the CT room's door. He suddenly found the hospital oppressive, suffocating. There was a door leading outside and he pushed it open, not bothering to check if it were an emergency door or not. It wasn't. No alarm disrupted the pre-dawn quiet as John emerged into a nearly deserted parking lot. He slumped heavily against the wall and inhaled the cool morning air in an effort to clear his head.

He was exhausted. Sheer grit and determination kept him going after God only knew how many hours awake, and how many days the tool of that son-of-a-bitch demon. Getting shot and flattened by a semi were just icing on the cake. He hadn't spent enough time unconscious. His thigh was pushing hard against the denim of his jeans, swelling inside them, making the gunshot wound ache with every step he took. His shoulder wasn't much better. Sprained, not broken, but the pain was intense, radiating out into his chest, down the other arm. The bump on his head made him dizzy.

It was all minor, and it shouldn't have been. Someone, or something had been looking out for them in that wreck. They should have all been dead.

There were Aspirin in his pocket. He dry swallowed two of them instead of the more potent pain killers the doctors had prescribed. Leaning his head back against the wall he closed his eyes and waited for the pills to kick in and the pain to ebb. His plan, his gamble, had not yet come to its fruition. He had one last thing he had to do. It would have to wait, though, until the doctors were done with their tests, satisfied with the results, and Dean permitted visitors.

He knew he was at the end of his reserves when a voice spoke to him from nearby. Normally he would have been on guard long before she was able to get so close.

"That was a dirty trick," she said softly.

John opened his eyes. A young woman stood before him; dark haired, dark eyed, petite and pretty. She wore a black dress, a little strappy thing a woman might wear to a cocktail party. It was as simple and unadorned as she. She wore no jewelry, nor anything in her short bobbed hair, nor did it seem that she wore makeup.

The air around her was cold but she was no spirit. John was experienced enough to know that for sure.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't much appreciate being possessed by a demon. It's rather – unorthodox." Her expression shifted into a frown. "And unpleasant. They place no value on life, only souls." This time her eyes met John's accusingly. "You've made a mistake, John Winchester, a dreadful, dreadful mistake. You should have let me have him."

He didn't move. It would be pointless. "You're a reaper."

"And you're a fool," she said, with no malice, only what John perceived as disappointment. "Your son knew me as Tessa for the time we were acquainted. He'll retain no memory of me, nor the time he spent behind the veil. I think it will haunt him though, in his dreams, when he walks these halls alone, desperately trying to make contact with those he loves."

"_I dunno...it felt like...it felt like Dean. Like he was there, just out of eyeshot."_

"Sam," John muttered.

"And they just walk away." Tessa shot him a hard look. "At least that's what he thought, when you sat at his bedside doing nothing, when Sam came to you for help and you were gone..."

He was too tired to muster his temper. His words came out flat. "Considering you didn't take him, I wouldn't say I did nothing."

Tessa's demeanor suddenly changed. Her stern expression softened, turned sad and sympathetic. Her voice was soft and no longer accusing. "No," she said softly. "No one could say that."

John looked away from her. "I didn't want to make that decision. You don't understand how..." his voice broke. He cleared his throat, but could not finish.

The reaper took a step closer, but remained at arms length, respecting both his space and probably his life. "I deal with people making hard decisions on a daily basis. The one Dean was to make today was no less difficult."

Startled, John asked, "Was it?"

"He would have remained as he was," she replied quietly. "Given up the afterlife to spend eternity caught between life and death, if he knew he could protect you and his brother. I only told him the truth, John. Whatever else happened he would still see you and Sam die, and most likely pass on to where he could not follow. He'd be alone, his soul rotting inside him, driving him mad, until a Hunter comes to destroy him."

John felt a surge of relief. "But he chose death."

"He chose nothing. The decision was removed from both of our hands, and he was returned to his body, healed and whole." She cocked her head. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes," John murmured hoarsely. "Yes."

"When his time comes again, he'll face the same decision, as will you, John. But Sam won't have the luxury will he?"

"Don't!"

"Why, John?" Tessa took a step forward. He could feel the chill of her creeping into his already aching joints. "What were you thinking?"

_Time. I needed time. It was the only chance I had to save both of them._

"_There's something else I want, something I've wanted for a very long time,"_ the demon had said.

John had been afraid then, afraid it would want his life and his soul. Dean's life was worth much more than just the Colt and a bullet. He'd known that going into the deal. "And what is that?" he'd asked.

It had cocked its head and smiled. "Oh, I think you know," it purred. "The others have been easy. A whispered suggestion here, a nightmare there, and they just gave in to what they are. Sure, a few are resisting, but in time they'll fall. Humans are so easily corrupted. There's a sweet little girl in Peoria who had a fling with her college professor, never realizing what she'd done to her soul. She'll be mine eventually too. Adultry is still considered a real bad sin among the powers that be you know. Quite surprising in this day and age" Pausing, it's smile had slowly faded. "But sometimes one comes along that proves a difficult nut to crack. Pure of heart," it sneered. "Guileless. Makes it hard for me, and I don't like having to work at getting what I want."

Cold dread crept into John's heart. "You want Sam's soul."

"On a silver platter." The demon had snapped, it's eyes flashing. "I can't get him to cross the line, John. I've tried and tried, but he's a stubborn lil' cuss." It's smile returned. "Just like Daddy."

John had felt his knees go weak as failure loomed and he began to succumb to despair. "Sam's soul is not mine to give," he'd whispered.

"And that is where you're wrong, John. It's not a well publicized loophole, but by virtue of being his father, it _is_ yours to give." Waving its hand dismissively the demon had paced back and forth a few steps as it spoke. "Give me your first born son and all that. Of course Sammy isn't the first born, but..." It stopped. "Substitutions can be made."

_Sam, for Dean._ _Choose Sam, and Dean dies. Choose Dean and chances are we'll lose Sammy for sure. Oh God. How can I make a choice like that? _

Tessa's voice interrupted his retrospective. "You did everything to protect him until now. John. How could you betray your own son like that?"

John shook his head, wincing as pain slugged him in the chest again. "I'll find a way to save him. Things are no different now than before."

"You've never had much faith in him."

"I won't lose both of my sons!" John found just energy enough to put some power behind his words, but his strength was fading, and along with it, his voice. "I just need some more time," he whispered. "That's all."

Tessa regarded him sympathetically. "John," she said softly. "You don't have any more time."

He looked up at her quickly, and his weary mind finally made the connection. She stood before him as real as any human being in her bare feet and little black dress. He could see her clearly.

He should not have been seeing her at all.

"No..."

"The pain in your chest isn't from the accident."

"Son-of-a-bitch." John winced as the pain made itself known once again. He should have known. His blood pressure had been in the crapper for most of his life. His father had died of heart disease. "You can't do this," he murmured brokenly. "Not now. Please, not now!"

"You have another decision to make, John."

He surprised her. He surprised her by pushing away from the wall much faster than a man whose heart was failing should have been able to move. Her skin was soft, her flesh solid. John closed his hand around her arm in a crushing grip that might have made a human woman cry out in pain.

"Not until I talk to Dean," he hissed. "It was part of the deal."

"He's very much alive."

"I have to see it for myself!"

She glared at him, silent for a long moment. Finally she said, "Fine. I'll wait for that, but no longer."

John was alone. She had gone in a blink of an eye, almost making him wonder if she'd ever been there at all. He knew better. From around the corner he could hear an ambulance siren give one last bleat and people shouting from the emergency entrance. He could not go back the way he came. He'd have to go around and back inside through the E.R. It would take longer. It would give him time to think.

_Dean. It's all on him now. The demon has to be destroyed. It's the only way to save Sammy, and if we lose Sam, it might be the only way we can save ourselves. _

_Not to mention the rest of the world._

By the time he found Dean's room, both boys were already there and from the looks on their faces, pondering the meaning of Dean's miraculous recovery. John hesitated before entering.

Where had his children gone? He remembered a solemn little boy with a freckled nose and eyes too big for his face, gamely trying to teach himself to skateboard in the parking lot of a run-down motel. Wasn't it just yesterday that Sammy was toddling around in diapers, teething, a bottle in one hand and a drool-sodden cookie in the other? Who were these people, these grown men?

_I wasn't there for Sammy's first words, or his first steps. I never taught Dean to ride a bike, or hit a baseball._

It wasn't his fault, John reminded himself. His opportunity to do those things, to raise his boys right, had been taken away from him. He could only protect them as best he could, and he would be damned if he was going to drop the ball now.

_I did the right thing saving Dean. Dean's always been the one to take care of Sammy. He won't let anything happen to his brother. I have to trust in him. _

There was no other choice now.

He stepped into the room. Dean's mood was undecipherable. He seemed tired, and confused. Sam, on the other hand, was openly hostile.

"Where were you?"

John threw out an answer. Sam wasn't satisfied, inhaled a breath and prepared to get the argument going in full swing. He never got out the first word. John interrupted him.

_"Do we have to fight?"_

Surrender. Sam wasn't used to it. John usually met hostility with hostility, and a stubborn unwillingness to back down from a fight. Whatever Sam started, John would be right there to finish. They were, he realized, very much alike, and Dean, the peacemaker, was much like his mother.

_Mary, I'm so sorry..._

Sam had been taken off guard. Solemn and obedient, he left to tend to John's request for caffeine.

Alone with Dean, John couldn't help but let his emotions get the better of him. Here he was again, handing his burdens over to Dean, giving Dean responsibilities that should have been his own. He tried to explain it as best he could, but something got muddled along the way and the little speech he'd rehearsed in the elevator turned into something else. He'd meant to encourage his son, tell Dean he had faith in his abilities, his strength, and his love for his brother. Somehow it turned into an apology, an apology for all the years he'd not been a proper father.

"_It's okay, Dad."_

Time was running out. John could sense it. The pain in his chest had returned. He couldn't tell Dean everything. That he had effectively stripped Sam of his ability to defend himself against the demon's corruption would be a secret John would take with him. If Dean knew his life had been bought with his brother's soul it would shatter him completely. They knew the demon had plans for Sam, and that would have to be enough. Dean would have to find a way to keep Sammy safe, and if he couldn't...

"_You have to save him. If you can't...Dean. You may have to kill him."_

He left Dean stunned, made his escape before his son could recover and start asking questions.

She was waiting for him in an empty room next door, sitting cross-legged on the bed like a thin, black-clad Buddha. The dress had been set aside in favor of loose pants and a t-shirt. She appeared safe and reassuring. John wondered if she would appear differently to someone else, someone afraid of dying. Death didn't scare John Winchester. It usually just pissed him off.

But not this time.

He took the Colt from his pocket and laid it upon the bed tray. The demon would find it there, of that he had no doubt. His eyes met those of the reaper sitting before him, and he didn't bother to hide the tears.

"Okay," he whispered.

Tessa nodded and unfolded her legs, slipping quietly to the floor. Her bare feet made no sound as she approached. "Sam is a rare being," she said softly. "But even those who are pure of heart are human, with human frailties. The demon would have found a way to make him cross the line eventually, probably by using his love for his family against him. A choice between murder and those he loves would be no choice for Sam. He'd kill for you."

John's voice was gruff. "He might have still been safe. He could have resisted. Now he won't have that choice at all. One mistake and it'll be free to corrupt him just like it has the others."

_Even death won't free him now. Dean has to destroy the demon. He has to undo what I've done._

"You did the best you could, John. As you said, it is a gamble, and you've placed a pretty hefty bet. If the cards fall your way, you'll be a rich man. If not, you lose everything."

"No," he corrected. "Not me. It's Sam who'll pay the price." John squared his shoulders, and raised his head ignoring the pain now surging throughout his body. "I've made my decision. I'm not going with you, but I get to chose where I have to stay."

The reaper frowned. "John..."

"Don't."

Tessa stopped. She sensed his determination. She would not try to change his mind. "Okay," she said softly. "It's your choice."

"I pick the place," he reminded her. "I'm not spending eternity in a damn hospital."

"Unusual, but doable. Where do you want to go?"

John took a deep breath, his last breath, and told her.

"Wyoming. There's an old cowboy cemetery there..."

* * *

The demon was dead. 

John let out a breath that wasn't a breath and met the eyes of his son. There was shock there, and shame. John knew what he'd done, but couldn't condemn him. Dean had given up what was rightfully his to give. In his own dealings with demons, John had bargained with something that did not belong to him.

His smile was forgiving. His hand on Dean's shoulder said, _"I understand."_

He turned his gaze toward Sam and saw the scars no one else could see, the wounds that would never heal buried deep inside him. It was John's fault they were there. Dean hadn't known when he bargained for Sam's life he was dragging him back from Hell. He hadn't known John had sold his brother to the devil. Neither of them knew, and now, they never would.

The damage, however, had been done. Sam would never be the same. He had, miraculously, avoided the demon's temptations despite the power it had over him, despite the lien it held on his soul. It was a triumph that had not lasted long. Not even the demon had foreseen Sam's sudden death. It had been disappointed to be sure, but it still had possession of Sam's soul and would immediately cash in its prize. John's bargain condemned Sam to an eternity of torment. He had died, and gone straight to Hell.

Dean made his own deal, and brought Sam back - irrevocably changed. Now lying within him was a dark, twisted knot of anger and aggression, lust and greed, tempered by the flames of Hell. There was power there too, boiling just beneath the surface. It was foul and dangerous. He no longer had a soul to sell, more demon than human.

And yet...

There was light there too, still burning bright among the darkness, stubbornly refusing to be suppressed. It was sustained by love, loyalty and sheer determination to make things right. John realized Sam was aware of the battle he would be fighting; he was frightened, but he had come too far to let the demon prevail now. His destiny would be his to make, and his alone. Saving Dean would be the first step he'd take toward redemption.

John knew then that it would be all right. Somehow his boys would make it through the dark days ahead, and they would do it on their own. They didn't need him anymore. It was okay to let go.

Sam's eyes were pleading with him to stay, but Dean had some letting go of his own to do, something he'd not been given the chance to do before. His expression was one of tearful resignation.

John reassured Sam with a smile, acknowledged Dean's good-bye with a nod...

And let them go.


End file.
